


An Alternate Occupation

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John is injured he finds something else to do whilst Sherlock is out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alternate Occupation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sabrina_Phynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabrina_Phynn/gifts).



**  
  
**

John Watson cursed the rain as he ran down the steps after Sherlock Holmes.  He was soaked through and yet Sherlock didn’t seem to have noticed.  Unfortunately for his part John hadn’t noticed how slippery the steps were and as he came towards the bottom his foot shot out from under him and he fell the last few steps.  He hauled himself up using the handrail, but as he tried to stand upright a stabbing pain shot up from his ankle.  After a minute he attempted to put his weight on his foot, but it still felt extremely painful, so he decided to sit on the steps for a few minutes to let the worst of the pain disappear.

Sherlock meanwhile had followed his quarry to an alleyway and was preparing to head into it when Inspector Lestrade caught him up from the opposite direction. 

“We’ll take over from here,” he said.  Then looking round he added, “Where’s John?”

Sherlock looked up and down the road.  There was no sign of his flatmate.  A further look and he started to panic.  “He was right behind me.  He slowed at some point.  He ...”

“Okay,” said Lestrade, “we’ll track back and find him.”

It didn’t take long for them to find John leaning on the bottom of the handrail and trying to stand on both feet.  Sherlock shot over and John reassured him that it was just a sprain and that given a bit of rest he’d be fine.  He omitted telling him that having been soaked through he was also cold and that was adding to his difficulty in moving.  Fortunately for him Lestrade quickly summed up the situation and offered an arm so that he could hobble painfully to where Sherlock could hail them both a taxi.

As they got into the taxi Lestrade fixed Sherlock with a stare and said, “Make sure John gets some dry clothes on when you get back to Baker Street and takes his weight off that ankle.”

Sherlock nodded and put his arms round John to warm him up as much as possible on the journey, before helping him into his pyjamas and getting him into bed once they were in the flat.  Having ensured John was settled, he himself got undressed and joined him; hugging him close to ensure that he soon recovered from the day’s misadventures and didn’t experience any of his recurring nightmares.

The following morning John hobbled into the sitting room to see Sherlock in a flurry of activity, having just had a text with some further details from Lestrade.

“Can you be ready in five minutes?  They’ve found the missing legs.”

Sherlock paused to pull out his phone and check the text he’d just received.

 _Don’t bring John.  He needs to rest his ankle.  GL_

Sherlock frowned; then looked at John.  “Just Lestrade being fussy.  We can ignore him.”

 _If John comes I won’t let you in.  GL_

“Actually, you might be better off staying here and resting that ankle.”

John was about to protest, but the ankle was painful and he didn’t feel that good if he were honest.  The thought of being able to slump on the settee without Sherlock leaping all over the place suddenly seemed very appealing.

“Well, if you insist.”

“Probably for the best.  I’ll ask Mrs Hudson to pop up and keep an eye on you.”  And with a fond kiss on John’s head Sherlock bounced out of the flat.

About half an hour later Mrs Hudson came in, muttered something about “landlady not nurse” and switched the television on.  They sat together watching “This Morning” which since it was a week before Christmas was all about preparing festive food.  Every so often Mrs Hudson would get up and make another cup of tea, find some more biscuits and generally fuss around John’s ankle to make sure it was suitably elevated.  John wasn’t really paying much attention when suddenly the current chef began demonstrating how to make a gingerbread house.  He sat forward, causing his ankle to start to slide off the pile of cushions Mrs Hudson had arranged.  She got up to reassemble them when he stopped her.

“No, wait a minute, please.  I’ve always wanted to make something out of gingerbread.  Harry would never let me decorate the gingerbread men when I was little; she said it was her job.  I could do something far more impressive now.  Well, I could if it wasn’t for Sherlock.”

He sat back defeated on the settee.  Mrs Hudson patted his hand in a motherly fashion.  “Oh I don’t know dear, I think something could be arranged.  You just make sure he knows you need another day for your ankle to fully recover and I’ll get everything you’ll require.

The following morning when John walked into the kitchen without hobbling Sherlock looked at him and said “Excellent.  I need to check out the second hand bookshops we found the other day, if you’re with me it’ll take half the time.”

John felt a fleeting pang of disappointment at not being able to join Mrs Hudson, but the thought of getting out and spending the day chasing after Sherlock would make up for it.  He had picked up his coat and was about to follow Sherlock out of the door when the landlady herself appeared.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” she asked.  “What that ankle needs is another day’s rest.  I’m sure it feels fine now, but you know what will happen; you’ll forget and start to run and undo all the good you did yesterday.  And as for you,” she turned to Sherlock, “if he doesn’t stay home I shall be on the phone to that nice inspector and he won’t give you another case until at least Easter.”

Sherlock sighed.  “Well, maybe it would be better if I went by myself.”

John nodded and hung his coat up again.  “Thank you, Mrs Hudson,” he said once Sherlock had departed.

“That’s alright, dear.  So long as you remember I’m your landlady, not your mother.  Although really I do feel you both need someone to look after you at times.  Anyway, I have everything ready for you in my kitchen.”

She led the way through her flat.  Laid out on the kitchen table were all manner of gingerbread pieces; together with tubes of icing, Smarties and other sweets.  John sat down, a broad grin across his face.

“Right,” said Mrs Hudson.  “Before you start decorating your house I would suggest you practise on these.  Once you’re happy you know what you’re doing you can move onto decorating and putting your house together.”

She gave him a plastic box with a number of gingerbread men in.

“I was wondering whether to make something other than a house, a TARDIS perhaps?”

Mrs Hudson frowned at him as if he were a child at infant school suggesting they paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in their art lesson.  “I think you’ll find a normal house quite difficult enough.”

John soon discovered that decorating gingerbread wasn’t as easy as they made it look on the television.  Mrs Hudson helpfully pointed out that the chefs always had plenty of practice and that quite often these things were pre-recorded so that they could cut out all the disasters, reminding him of the classic Blue Peter “here’s one I made earlier” example.  Eventually John had managed to decorate four of the gingerbread men to his satisfaction and was able to move onto the decoration and construction of the house itself.

He started off by outlining the doors and windows in icing and then added some Smarties, decorating round them to make them look like flowers.  The liquorice bootlaces made very effective drain pipes.  By applying some icing to the front door and adding grated chocolate he made it look quite wooden.  Feeling that the sides of the house looked reasonably lifelike (as lifelike as a gingerbread house could look) he decided that the roof should be a riot of colour.  He covered the roof with more icing and then added half a packet of jelly tots together with some liquorice allsorts and a scattering of silver balls.  Mrs Hudson helped him construct the house when he was ready.  The final product, although not quite square, seemed sturdy enough and John felt rather elated at what he had done.  They agreed that Mrs Hudson would keep the gingerbread house until Christmas Eve when Mycroft and Lestrade were expected for tea, prior to their departure for the Holmes family home where they would all be spending Christmas Day.

John went back up to the flat, carrying the box containing the four gingerbread men.  When in his own kitchen he opened the box once more to admire his handiwork.  He had decorated each of the gingerbread men so that they resembled those he was closest to.  His own man was wearing a striped jumper, whilst Sherlock’s was holding something vaguely looking like a violin made out of chocolate buttons, the bow being constructed out of a piece of liquorice bootlace.  Lestrade had caused him a problem at first, but since he had recently acquired a new motorbike, which he was extremely proud of, his gingerbread man was wearing a bright red crash helmet.  Mycroft, of course, had a candy stick umbrella.

John hid the box in the back of one of the cupboards, ensuring that some uninteresting tins of soup and packets of pasta were in front of it.  He had just made it onto the settee when Sherlock arrived home, bearing several carrier bags, one of which he flung at John.

“Lestrade asked me to give you this.  Apparently you won it in the raffle.”

“I don’t remember buying any raffle tickets.”  He opened the bag and peered inside.  “I’ll bloody kill Lestrade.  Right, detective inspector, vengeance is mine.”

“What’s he done this time?”

“I wouldn’t put it past your brother to have put him up to it.”  John held up a pair of boxer shorts, with a large picture of Animal from the Muppets on them.

Sherlock sniggered.  “Well, you can be a bit of an animal at times.”

John threw a cushion at him.  “I’m going online to find something suitable to get him for Christmas.  You did say it’s a family tradition that everyone opens their presents together after Christmas dinner, didn’t you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Want a bet?”

“Mummy will never forgive me.  She thinks I’ve found someone who is a good influence on me.”

John just snorted and continued searching for the most embarrassing present he could find.

Sherlock meanwhile had disappeared into the kitchen.  He reappeared after what John should have realised was a suspiciously long time to give him a mug of tea.  Finally John was satisfied with what he had selected and closed his laptop with an evil grin.  He went into the kitchen and, since Sherlock had vanished into his bedroom, he decided to have another look at his gingerbread men.  He took the box out of the cupboard, removed the lid and

“Sherlock, have you eaten Mycroft’s head?”


End file.
